


The Boy That Knew Just Enough

by Jenetica



Series: The Heisenberg Anthology [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: BAMF Stiles, F/M, First Time, In Which Lydia is Very Pleasantly Surprised, Loss of Virginity, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, and Stiles is a Sex God
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-18
Updated: 2013-08-18
Packaged: 2017-12-23 22:39:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,690
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/931895
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jenetica/pseuds/Jenetica
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lydia Martin has no idea why she agreed to de-virginize Stiles. Seriously, she doesn’t.</p><p>But it's the best decision she's ever made.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Boy That Knew Just Enough

**Author's Note:**

> I have nothing to say about this. It was a burst of inspiration kind of thing.
> 
> Un-beta'd. Sorry if you guys find any mistakes!

Lydia Martin has no idea why she agreed to de-virginize Stiles. Seriously, she doesn’t. She has a very distinct type: tall, lithe blondes with asshole personalities and vicious stamina in bed.

Stiles is… none of those things.

Worse yet, she knows that he’s in love with her. She _stopped his panic attack_ with a _kiss_. Sleeping with him would only work to intensify those feelings, and it was an irrational solution to what should have been an easy-to-solve problem.

Well, “easy to solve” is a relative term. This is, after all, _Stiles_.

Nonetheless, here she was, driving over to his house where he was no doubt stuffing his nightstand full of condoms and flossing meticulously. Lydia could appreciate that; if she was going to be kissing him, she’d prefer it if he was hygienic.

She pulled into his driveway, giving herself a moment to prepare. She pressed down on her belly, which was fluttering with nerves. She knew that, logically, she had no need to be nervous. She was doing a favor for a friend, and she’d most likely be a rather passive participant. But, at the same time, she was a sixteen year old girl, and both boys she’d slept with had been, well. No need to dwell on that now.

More importantly, she was making someone’s dream come true. If the rumors were to be believed, then Stiles had been in love with her since the third grade. And isn’t that what every teenager hopes for? To lose their virginity to someone they care about? And, objectively, that was kind of nerve-wracking.

Lydia took a deep breath and smiled at her reflection in the rearview mirror. She was Lydia Martin, smartest student and sexiest girl in Beacon Hills. She had already been recruited by top-rate universities, though it was only her sophomore year. She could do this.

She applied her favorite lipstick and got out of her car, strolling to the front door and ringing the doorbell. She heard a loud crash and fought to hide a smirk.

A moment later, the door opened, and an overly cool Stiles propped himself against the doorframe. “What a surprise,” he said, voice cracking. He cleared it, looking embarrassed. “Come inside." 

“Okay firstly?” Lydia said, walking into the house, “drop the act. I know you, Stiles. Actually, everyone in school knows that you’re a virgin. You scream it at Scott, like, literally every week. So if we’re doing this, I want Stiles. The real one.”

“Gotcha,” Stiles said shakily from somewhere behind her.

“Secondly?” She continued, looking at the pictures along the mantle. She wasn’t really taking in the images, but she needed something to look at before she lost her nerve, “we do not talk about this after. You do not go around school telling everyone that you slept with me. I’ll expect you will tell Scott, just as I will tell Allison. No one else. Got it?”

“Are you serious?” Stiles asked incredulously. Lydia turned to face him, hiding her shock behind a mask of cool indifference. She’d honestly thought Stiles would agree to all of her terms without question, considering. Maybe she’d overestimated him. “Do you honestly think I would do that? Run around, shouting from the hilltops that I lost my V-card to you? What kind of jerk to you take me for?”

Make that underestimated.

“The teenaged boy kind,” she replied smoothly, flicking a strand of hair away from her face. “So are we doing this, or what?” 

Stiles paled, shoving his hands in his pockets as he nodded jerkily. “Definitely, yes. To the bedroom?”

She followed him up the stairs, taking in the sight of his bedroom with a note of familiarity. When she’d lost Jackson, she had been such a mess. She didn’t know where to go, so she came here, and cried on Stiles for hours. He’d supported her through it all, even though she could practically _smell_ the panic on him. He was there for her during her worst moment. Maybe she could be a little nicer to him about all of this.

“Your room’s a lot cleaner than the last time I was here,” she complimented, sitting on his bed (smelling like fabric softener; fresh sheets, how thoughtful). “I see you took the TV back.”

“Yeah,” he laughed nervously, “my Jeep got wrecked, and I needed the money.”

“Picking your sole mode of transportation over me?” she gasped, mock-offended. “How rude!”

He smiled for real this time, relaxing infinitesimally. Lydia patted herself on the back for a job well done. “So, are you going to sit next to me, or are we going to have sex from across the room?”

Stiles flinched, moving on timid legs to sit next to her. “Right. The sex.”

Lydia sighed, rolling her eyes. “Stiles. It’s sex. I know this is new for you, but I can guarantee that you’re overreacting. Do you know what egocentricity is?”

He shook his head.

“Egocentricity is a common mental condition in adolescents ranging from twelve to nineteen years old,” she quoted. “It is marked by a heightened self-awareness, and the irrational belief that everyone in the room is focused on you.”

“That’s good to know,” Stiles said lightly, hands balled into fists on his knees. Lydia laid a hand on the closest one, sighing again.

“No, you misunderstand me. You think that you broadcast your virginity every day, right? And you do, because you talk about it so much; but if you didn’t? No one would know. No one would care. Everyone in that school is egocentric. Everyone thinks that their flaws are surrounded by flashing neon signs saying ‘Look! This guy’s an idiot!’ But that’s not true. Okay?”

“So, if I’m not broadcasting my virginity,” Stiles said quietly, staring her in the eye, “what _am_ I broadcasting?” 

“Desperation,” Lydia replied, patting his hand. “You ooze it. Desperation to be popular, desperation to be useful, desperation to be normal.”

“Oh, that’s much better,” Stiles commented dryly. “Thanks.”

“But under that,” Lydia continued, unruffled, “you’re a really good guy. I mean, our lives have kind of sucked recently. Like, a lot. But you’re still Stiles. You’re sarcastic and loyal and obnoxious and smart, just like you were before everything happened.”

“Um, hate to burst this bubble,” Stiles said. “Really, I do, because hearing Lydia Martin extol my virtues is probably one of the best things that’s ever happened to me, but you didn’t know me before all of this happened. You have no basis of comparison.”

“Stiles, I am the smartest person in this city,” Lydia retorted impatiently. “I can memorize formulae in minutes. I can quote Shakespeare, Vonnegut, and Voltaire. I can explain to you exactly how to make methamphetamine, using everyday kitchen appliances. Do you honestly think I didn’t know about you before my boyfriend turned into a snake-man? Really?” 

“You know how to make crystal meth?” Stiles gaped. “Can I call you Heisenberg from now on?”

Lydia considered that for a moment. “Ask me after the sex.”

“Will do,” he said, and Lydia noted with pleasure that he didn’t sound nearly as nervous.

“So, now that I’ve proven to you that you aren’t, in fact, the most pathetic student at Beacon Hills High, can we do this?”

“Yep, yes, we can do this,” Stiles agreed, staring at her lips. “Can I kiss you?”

She rolled her eyes, leaning in and kissing him pointedly. His hands immediately tangled in her hair, tilting her head to the side so he could kiss her more deeply. She made a noise of approval, hands sliding up his chest to rest on either side of his neck. When his tongue ran along the seam of her lips, she opened them, reaching out with her own tongue to lick at his teeth. 

Yep, he’d definitely flossed. Good boy.

She flicked her tongue on his hard palate and he groaned, pulling her tighter into his arms. She felt a twinge low in her belly. Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad, after all. 

He broke away a moment later, panting. Lydia was surprised to find that she was out of breath, too. She started unbuttoning her blouse, only to be stopped by Stiles. “Please,” he said lowly, “let me.”

She let go of her shirt, allowing him to continue. His fingers were long and tapered, and they pushed buttons through buttonholes like they were dancing a very slow, intimate tango. The shirt gaped open when he was done, exposing her pink, lacy bra.

“Am I allowed to touch?” he asked, voice hoarse.

“S’kinda the point,” she replied, her own voice coming out reedy.

“Fuck yes,” he groaned, spreading his hands under her shirt, around her waist, He pushed them up her sides, moving over her shoulders and pushing her shirt down and away. She undid the buttons on the cuffs, tugging the shirt all the way off and tossing it onto the computer chair sitting a few feet away.

“Seems a little unfair, don’t you think?” she pointed out, pleased when his eyes flickered from her chest up to her face, concerned. Good boy.

“What?”

“Well, here I am topless, and you’ve still got all your clothes on.”

Without further ado, Stiles yanked his arms out of his plaid shirt, throwing it on the ground. Lydia waited for him to take off his t-shirt, too, and raised an eyebrow when he didn’t. 

“And the other one?”

“Mm,” he denied, pursing his lips. “Now who’s being unfair?” He ran a single finger under the strap of her bra, leading it up and over her shoulder. His hand moved to the center of her back. He leaned in close to her ear. “I’ll show you mine if you show me yours.”

And okay, when had Stiles become so seductive? Was this reality? Lydia nodded shakily, squeezing her thighs together when he undid the clasp with one hand. He leaned back, trailing his fingers under the strap again, and gently pulled the bra down her arms. 

“God, you’re beautiful,” he said raggedly, and, for the first time in a long time, Lydia really felt it. He reached for the hem of his t-shirt but she stopped him.

“Only fair that I return the favor,” she said, running light fingertips along the skin just under the hem.

“Lydia,” Stiles said, voice strained, “I am one hundred percent on board with reciprocity, but if you keep doing that, this is going to be over disappointingly quickly.”

Lydia smiled evilly, but she stopped tracing letters into Stiles’ skin. She curved both hands into the fabric of the shirt, lifting it up and, when Stiles raised his arms, off.

Stiles wasn’t nearly as misshapen as she’d thought he might be, she noted happily. He played lacrosse, she knew, and he’d had to run away from danger a lot recently, but she’d always expected to be hiding some sort of tummy, or something, under all those layers.

He _was_ hiding something, alright: abs. Not clearly defined ones, like the werewolves or Jackson, but they were definitely there. She trailed her fingertips over them, delighting in the way the jumped under her touch. She leaned up and kissed him again, moving to straddle him. He steadied her by placing his hands on her hips, but they moved up her sides as soon as she was situated. They traced over her stomach and back, fingers teasing at the curve of her breasts, but never actually touching them. She broke away, impatient, and grabbed his wrists, placing his hands directly on her chest. He made a broken sort of sound, and she released him, moving her hands back into his hair to kiss him again.

His hands squeezed lightly, testing the fullness of her breasts, and he moaned into her mouth. She arched when his fingers flicked over her nipples, biting at his bottom lip in appreciation. His hands raced down to her hips, pulling her against his crotch for the briefest of moments, before returning to pluck at her nipples with intent.

Okay, time to get this show on the road. Lydia moved her hands between her spread thighs, pulling at the button of his jeans. Stiles pulled away, stilling her movements. His eyes were totally blown, irises reduced to thin rings of dark brown. “No, not yet,” he purred, lips curling into a smirk when she shuddered.  “I have plans for this.”

“You what?” Lydia said, struggling to clear her head. Damn, she wasn’t supposed to be this hazy, especially when they hadn’t even gotten _going_ yet.

“You said you knew me,” Stiles replied in that same low voice. “Said you knew what kind of person I was. What is my primary function in the pack?”

Lydia blinked. “Um… comic relief?”

“ _Research_ , Lydia,” he corrected, smiling. “I look up all the facts and fictions on whatever we’re fighting.”

“Okay…?” she said. Why weren’t they naked yet? She tried to move her hands, but they were still held hostage in Stiles’ grip.

“Let’s do some math, hmm?” he asked, trailing hot kisses along her collarbone. “I’m a desperate virgin that does a lot of research. What does that add up to?”

“Porn?” Lydia offered, distracted: Stiles had found the sensitive spot under her ear and was attacking it ruthlessly.

“Among other things,” he agreed, rewarding her by nipping at the spot, grinning when she gasped. “And, smart, resourceful me; what do I do when I’ve collected all my data? What do we do when we figure out how to kill the big nasty?”

 _Oh._ Lydia moaned, heat gushing between her thighs. “We plan.”

“Exactly,” he said, stooping to suckle at a nipple. She arched back, offering up her chest to his clever tongue.

He squeezed at her wrists, breaking the façade to rest his forehead against her sternum. “God _damn_ , Lyds,” he ground out, giving himself a moment to regain control. Lydia smirked: finally, some familiar territory. Although, honestly, she was very, very happy in these uncharted waters.

“So, two plus two plus two is?” he asked from between her breasts.

“Sex,” she concluded, giggling when he laughed.

“Lydia Martin, cracking a pun,” he said, raising his head to smile at her affectionately. “Tell the press.”

“Okay,” she said, finally under control. “So… what have you planned, then?”

A slow, sly grin spread across Stiles’ face. Lydia would have called it malicious on anyone else, but on Stiles? It was heart-stopping. 

“Stand up,” he commanded, helping her shift backwards onto her feet. “Shoes off.”

She toed them off, sinking two inches. Her calves protested the change in angle, but she ignored them. Far more important things going on, here.

Stiles pulled himself to the edge of he bed, positioning Lydia between his spread knees. He pressed a kiss to the hollow between her ribs, trailing his fingers around to find the zipper in her skirt. He pulled the zipper down, mirroring the movement with his mouth. He ended at her belly button, licking into it as he pushed the skirt down her legs. A gush of fluid soaked her panties.

Stiles snapped the waistband of her nylons. “Off.” She hastened to comply, shoving the tights down her legs and stepping out of them and the skirt.

“God,” Stiles whispered, reaching out with tentative fingers to stroke at the edge of her panties. “You’re more perfect than I’d imagined.”

Lydia wanted to kiss him, then, but she held herself still. He had a plan, and she’d be damned if she didn’t want to see it play out.

Stiles hunched down, fingers curling under the fabric to trace at where her pelvis met her legs. He breathed in and—Lydia felt yet another wave of heat— _smelled_ her. He must have liked it, because he straightened and took another moment to relax himself. “What you do to me, Lydia Martin….”

She was surprised to realize that she returned the sentiment whole-heartedly.

He ran a single finger along her slit through her underpants, scratching his nail at precisely the right moment. She made a strangled noise and rested both hands on his shoulders to steady herself. He looked up at her, grinning.

“If I didn’t know better,” he said conversationally, eyes twinkling, “I’d say you were enjoying this.”

“If I didn’t know better,” she returned, narrowing her eyes, “I’d say you were stalling.”

His grin widened, elated. He returned his focus to his task, curling his fingertips under the waistband of Lydia’s underwear and pushing them down. He groaned when she was revealed. “Why did I not guess that you would have shaped pubic hair?”

Lydia looked down at the heart she’d carefully waxed around last week. “I think we can agree that this is an exercise in underestimation.”

Stiles traced her slit again, this time without the barrier of fabric. Lydia’s hips rolled forward, following his finger. She dug her nails into his shoulders, body itching for more friction.

“Bed,” he croaked. “Lie on the bed now.”

She moved shakily to the edge of the bed and sat, biting her lip at how it jostled her clit. He moved to kneel on the floor and she moaned, loud and filthy. _Oh._ She fell backwards, grabbing at a pillow to shove under her head. He spread her legs carefully, breath uneven.

“I’m beginning to think this plan was a little overzealous,” he said weakly. He spread her lips open with two fingers. “Like, a lot.”

“We can always skip to the sex,” Lydia suggested despite herself.

“No, no,” Stiles refused, voice gaining resolve. “I made a promise to myself when I was fourteen, that if I ever had Lydia Martin in my bed, I would make sure she’d remember it. I’m not going back on that now.”

Lydia bit back the “Oh, I won’t be forgetting this anyway” ready to fall out of her lips. If Stiles was seriously offering to go down on her, she would rather chop off her hands than deny him. She’s seen him molest pen caps before, so she knew what that tongue looked like. Yes, please.

Stiles took a deep breath and ran a finger lightly over her swollen clit, pushing down to her entrance. He slid the finger inside of her, moaning something about “so wet” as he curled the finger, pushing against her g-spot. Lydia yelped, spreading her legs wider.

Stiles removed the finger and regarded it curiously, sticking it into his mouth. “Oh,” he said, eyes widening. “Okay.”

He pushed two fingers into her this time, just resting, and he leaned in to lick experimentally at her clit. Lydia whimpered, hands tugging on Stiles’ hair in approval. He licked more firmly at her clit this time, pulling his fingers out and pushing them back in.

He set a slow, teasing pace, curling his fingers every few thrusts, sucking at her clit on others. Lydia wasn’t even in control of her mouth anymore, and she hoped that she wasn’t saying anything too embarrassing. She’s pretty sure she said “know how to fucking treat a lady right” and “good boy” at some point, but it was true: Stiles, virgin extraordinaire, was a sex god.

She climbed higher and higher, the knot low in her belly beginning to coil. She could barely make out Stiles murmuring to himself, and she didn’t care enough to listen in, because this was probably the best sex she’d ever had.

Her inner muscles fluttered, preparing for orgasm, and suddenly Stiles was gone. She opened her eyes blearily to protest, but then she saw him tearing off his pants and reaching for a condom, and she lost the urge to complain. He rolled the condom on with a desperate sounding noise and pushed her up the bed so he could settle between her legs.

She murmured soft encouragements as he slowly pushed into her, rubbing soothing hands over his brow and down his shoulders. He bottomed out, gasping, and leaned in to kiss Lydia sloppily. He tasted like her come, and that was probably one of the hottest things she’d ever experienced. But then he moved, and she amended the statement: this entire _afternoon_ was one of the hottest things she’d ever experienced.

Stiles propped himself up on one hand, reaching down with the other one to rub at her clit. He thrust slowly but deeply, shaking with self-restraint.

“Stiles,” Lydia moaned, tapping at his shoulders. “Stiles, just do it. I’m right there, you can let go.” 

And he did. Stiles abandoned her clit and dropped to his elbows, thrusting into her with abandon. Lydia felt her orgasm crest, and clawed at his waist, keening her release loudly into his bedroom. Three thrusts later, Stiles’ hips jerked as he came, whimpering into the vee between her neck and shoulder.

He collapsed on top of her. Both of them were panting, sweaty, and blissed out. A few seconds later, Stiles groaned and pulled out, pulling off the used condom and tossing it into the trashcan. He lay down next to Lydia, still riding the waves of afterglow. “So, I hate to sound cliché, but it was okay, right?”

Lydia grinned lazily at him, stretching her relaxed muscles. “Meh. Only if you like earth-shattering orgasms.”

Stiles laughed breathlessly, blushing. “Good, then.”

“I’m thinking about retracting my rule though,” she commented, rolling onto her side and propping herself up on her elbow. “The female populace definitely needs to know about you.”

Stiles took a slow look down her body and his cock, soft and faintly glistening with spermicidal lubricant, gave a valiant effort at a twitch. “Don’t bother. I’m pretty sure I’m ruined for other women. So, do I get to call you Heisenberg?”

“No,” Lydia decided, grinning when his face dropped. “Not in public, anyway. When we’re alone, you can call me whatever you want.”

Stiles’ eyes widened at the implication, and he grinned broadly. “Oh? So will I be calling you Heisenberg a lot, then?”

“Oh, sweetheart,” she said, leaning down for a kiss, “every _day_.”

Lydia Martin has no idea why she agreed to de-virginize Stiles, but does know this: it’s the best decision she’s ever made.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!


End file.
